


The Statistics of Touch

by ErstwhileMadrose



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Kiss, Hermann has trouble with feelings, M/M, all that schmoopy stuff, also like one minor oc, public displays of affection and the difficulties therein, so does Newt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErstwhileMadrose/pseuds/ErstwhileMadrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Title: If You Would Just Stop Interrupting Each Other, Everything Would Be Worked Out in the First Friggin' Paragraph.</p>
<p>Hermann is uncomfortable with public displays of... well, anything. It causes problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Statistics of Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Serious props to my girlfriend for agreeing to look over this even though she's never seen the movie and generally finds my fandom screeching extremely tiresome. That means not all the mistakes are mine for once! Thanks Annu! :DD

They meet at the third PPDC conference in Helsinki. They’ve exchanged a few emails, of course, torn apart each other’s papers in academic journals for years, but they first touch in Helsinki. Dr. Newton Geiszler’s arms are clear of tattoos then, and his fingers are calloused from where he rests the handle of his scalpel. Hermann introduces himself, holds out his hand. Dr. Geiszler shakes it far too energetically, grins, says to call him Newt, and immediately launches into a rant about Kaiju cellular respiration. Not at all in that order. Hermann is at once repelled by Dr. Geiszler’s cocky unprofessionalism and intrigued by the brilliant mind behind it.

ooooo

They next cross paths in Anchorage, Hermann’s first, very brief, shatterdome assignment. Dr. Geiszler’s entire upper half is coated in a malodorous sheen of neutralised Kaiju Blue, and Hermann refuses to even get close enough for Stacker Pentecost to introduce them. From then on, their working relationship is less than a smooth one.

ooooo

For the first two years working in the Lima Shatterdome, Hermann is perfectly content. The high temperatures in Peru keep his leg from acting up as often as it had in Alaska, and the city, though half-destroyed by a Kaiju attack only a year before, is lively and beautiful. His work is satisfying, and most of his colleagues are a joy to work with, save one.

Dr. Geiszler is irritating and possibly insane, to put it mildly. The K-Science division is usually bustling with scientists and technicians, engineers and interns, and Hermann’s lab space is nowhere near the biology department, but that does not seem to matter. Wherever he is in the labs he can feel the incessant pounding of Geiszler’s music or hear him screeching at his assistants. It is distracting and it is frustrating, and he is grateful to every one of his superiors for not making him work directly with such an infuriating person.

That is, of course, until they do.

In 2016, only a month after the launch of Solar Prophet, Hermann and his team finally discover the exact location of the Breach. Their success earns them several honours and attention from the world press. Hermann is proud of their discovery, but he would much rather avoid the publicity that comes with it. He declines offers to appear on several international television shows and hides in his room while the other members of his team attend countless press conferences.

Without his colleagues to collaborate with, Hermann finds himself rather at a loss. There are many projects to be worked on, no doubt, but by himself Hermann knows he is not of much use. About two weeks after the news of the Breach’s location reaches the global networks, Hermann wanders up to Marshall Castillo’s office to ask for a project. She takes pity on him, and tells him that the biology department needs help with their Kaiju tracking algorithms.

“As you know, we already have a system for detecting and tracking the Kaiju once they emerge from the Breach.”

Hermann nods. In the earliest days of the war, he had been far too immersed in the intricate task of writing the code for the very first Jaegers to pay much attention to the leaps and bounds made in Kaiju biology, but he is familiar with the computer system they have in place.

Marshall Castillo continues, “But the coding is out of date, especially considering what your recent discoveries have given us. They don’t need a whole team, just someone with the technical knowledge to consult. I think you’ll be perfect for it.”

“Thank you very much, Marshall.”

“Of course, Dr. Gottlieb. I would have asked earlier, but the associated press can be… insistent.” The Marshall stands and opens her door. “By the way, you will be working primarily with Dr. Geiszler, the head of the biology department here. Will that be a problem?”

That will most certainly be very much of a problem, Hermann knows. But he cannot say that to the Marshall.

“No, it will not.”

Castillo smiles. “Just to warn you. He can be a bit difficult. If you’d rather be with someone else, I’m sure I can arrange it.”

“It will be fine, Marshall, I assure you.”

She nods and motions him out. He salutes her, exits, and goes to meet his doom.

ooooo

Refining the Kaiju tracking system takes much longer than either the Marshall or Hermann expected, with the consequence that Hermann spends far more time in the company of Dr. Geiszler than he originally anticipated.

It is awful.

Not so much because of how obnoxious Newton Geiszler can be, though that is certainly a factor. He is loud, tactless, childish, unprofessional, and messy. But as much as his behaviour drives Hermann to distraction, it is still not what makes working with him so terrible. No. What is terrible is that along with all that he also manages to be brilliant, funny, fearless, kind, and handsome. Hermann is justly horrified. And attracted.

Awful.

And usually Hermann can deal with workplace crushes. He has before, it is not the end of the world. But of course Dr. Geiszler _must_ be a singular case. No matter how hard he tries to quash any inkling of physical attraction within him, how desperately he forces down the lust he feels whenever Newt rolls up his sleeves or corrects his mistakes or screams at him or smiles at him, it just will not leave. So he hides it, screams right back at Newton instead of touching him, writes scathing complaint forms and never files them, tears down his theories in front of their coworkers.

In some twisted way, it works. They get more done between them than they ever would apart. The Marshall commends them on their progress. Everyone flees the room when their arguments escalate to incoherent shouting matches. But they work, and Hermann returns to his former contentment. As might be expected, it does not last for long.  

The day it happens is one long blur of rewriting the code for the user interface of the nearly-completed tracking system. When Hermann closes his eyes he can see endless lines of Python scrolling by behind his eyelids. He pinches the bridge of his nose and makes to stand, but suddenly Newton materialises out of nowhere, leaning over his desk and squinting at his work.

“I thought you based this on that bullshit light pollution theory?”

Newton is warm and soft and close, and it takes a moment to register what he is saying. Hermann swallows nervously.

“Er. Yes. I. I thought perhaps your industrial run-off theory was not complete rubbish and I ran the equations again. It yielded far more accurate results, so.”

Newton smirks at him. “I’m pretty sure there was a compliment in there somewhere.”

“Don’t get too excited.”

Newt’s smirk transforms into a genuine smile. “Make sure to credit me in your paper,” he says, patting Hermann on the back.

The jolt of nerves this simple contact causes is alarmingly intense, and Hermann jerks away from Newton’s hand as if it is a live wire, nearly knocking over his cane where it leans on his desk. “You will _not_ touch me, Dr. Geiszler!”

He regrets his angry reaction almost immediately. He is shocked by how much he does not want Newt to touch him. Because it is unprofessional to be this attracted to a coworker, because other people will notice, will talk. Because it is embarrassing how much Hermann wants, needs, Newts hands on him.

“Woah, okay! Hands off! Gotcha! Won’t happen again, man. Sorry.”

Newt’s tone is flippant, but he’s backed off nearly a metre, his hands held up in what appears to be a very real apology. His sincerity is a surprise to Hermann, who was expecting more resistance. Meanwhile, Newton is still talking seemingly without breathing..

“-- and I get it, man, I really do. I was the same way when I was little, I didn’t even like getting hugs from my own parents. But maybe that was just because it was my parents, I dunno--”

“Dr. Geiszler.”

“-- but anyway, the point is, you won’t have to worry about it, I promise I won’t--”

“ _Newton_.”

This, of all things, manages to make him speechless.

“First of all, you will never mention this again. Secondly, please shut up.”

“I did shut up!”

Hermann ignores him. “And thirdly, thank you.”

Newton stares. It makes Hermann distinctly uncomfortable.

“You’re. Uh. You’re welcome.” Newton clears his throat. “It’s no big deal, really.”

Hermann is mortified to realise that he is blushing.

“Yes, well.”

Cursing internally, he turns back to his computer. Of course his one concentrated effort to stop his own foolish crush would only make it worse.

ooooo

Six months and a transfer to Sydney later, Hermann is almost over his ridiculous attraction when Newton decides to ruin everything.

"So I have this theory," he says as he plops down on to Hermann's desk.

Hermann does not deign to look up from his tablet. "I will be much more likely to listen if you remove your extremities from my workspace."

Newton ignores him in favor of barreling onward. "So I'm probably being an insensitive dick by bringing this up--"

"You are _always_ an insensitive dick, Dr. Geiszler."

"-- and you told me to never talk about this again, but. I know you have this whole ‘no touchy’ thing going on and that's fine and all, I respect that, but I'm also pretty sure its just because you hate me."

As in most of their conversations, Hermann loses the thread of Newt's reasoning about halfway through his tirade.

"I... Excuse me?"

"Because, like, you shake hands with people and maybe that's just the polite British stick up your ass, yeah, but I've also seen Tendo pat your shoulder and you totally ruffled Mako's hair the other day, and you’re fine about that stuff. But then when I accidentally bump you in the elevator or whatever, you look like you’re going to shit a brick. So what's the deal, Herms? Am I that gross to you? Cause that stings, man, it really does."

The usual humor in his voice is strained, like he is genuinely hurt, and it surprises Hermann so much that he looks up from his work. Newt has his arms crossed defensively across his chest and his eyes are averted. There is a bright flush of red crawling up his neck. Hermann doesn't think he has ever seen Newt so upset in all their years of working together.

"I... Dr. Gei-- Newton. I did not mean--"

Newt interrupts him with an angry flail of his arms. “Then what the hell do you mean? Jesus, Hermann, I know you spend about ninety percent of your time fantasizing about stabbing me in the face with a slide rule, but I didn't think you found me so repulsive that--"

"Dr. Geiszler!" Newt's mouth snaps shut at Hermann's outburst, watches him, red-faced and silent, as he pushes himself out of his chair and grabs for his cane.

Hermann takes a deep breath, straightens his back. Color rises to his own cheeks as  he casts his eyes around the lab and finds that their argument has attracted the attention of every single person in the room.

He starts again, lowering his voice so only Newt can hear. "Dr. Geiszler, I do not hate you. If I did, do you really think I would agree to tolerate your exceedingly obnoxious presence for as long I have?"

"Uh." Newt’s shoulders sag as all the fight leaves his body at once.

"Precisely. Now I would like this conversation to end. This is hardly the appropriate time or place." Hermann glances meaningfully around the room again and Newt startles as though he's only just realized that they are not alone. Hermann is grateful to note that their colleagues have gone back to feigning guilty indifference.

"Um. Right... right." Newt coughs awkwardly. "I'll just. Get back to work, then. Uh. Yeah."

And with that he gets up and returns to his examination tables and his specimens, leaving a very confused Hermann Gottlieb in his wake.

ooooo

Hermann is not surprised when, many hours later, he hears a faint knock on the door of his quarters. He swallows once, hard, heaves himself from his bed, and struggles to get the heavy metal door open. He finds Newt standing just outside looking sheepish.

Newt’s head snaps up at the sound of scraping hinges. “Hermann! Hey! I, uh… I just thought I’d stop by and apologise for being such a shithead earlier. I’ve had a lot of stuff on my mind recently and you pissed me off and it all just kind of…y’know?”

“You were very much a shithead, Dr. Geiszler.” Newt shuffles his feet like a guilty child, and Hermann would find it annoying if it wasn’t so endearing. “But I forgive you.”

“Wow, just like that? And here I thought I’d have to grovel at your feet for weeks.”

“That is hardly necessary.”

Newt chuckles at that, quieter than he usually does. When he looks up again, however, his expression is humorless.

“But seriously, man. The whole ‘normal human contact is fine unless it’s Newt’ thing is really not fun.”

Hermann doesn’t know how to respond to that, and Newt takes his silence for offense. He looks slightly panicked as he backtracks.

“Unless I’m misconstruing this entire thing and you actually do have a No Touchy Policy, in which case, wow, I am so sorry for being an inconsiderate shithead _again_ and like I said before, that’s fine, I totally get it, and Jesus I’m fucking this up aren’t I--”

“Newton, please stop talking. I do not have a ‘No Touchy Policy’, as you put it. Physical contact simply makes me uncomfortable.”

Newt blinks.“I am completely failing to see how that’s not a No Touchy Policy.”

“Physical contact with _you_ makes me uncomfortable.”

“... That is so not better, dude.”

Hermann groans in frustration. Explaining how he’s wanted to pin Newton against a wall for years is not the conversation he was expecting or desiring to ever have with the man himself. And now he is shivering in the drafty halls of the Sydney Shatterdome, struggling to do exactly that. He takes a calming breath which does approximately nothing to calm his already frayed nerves.

“Because I find it arousing,” He manages to mumble, heat rising to his face.

Newt stares at him. “Um. What.”

Hermann is fairly certain he is about .3 seconds away from imploding from the magnitude of his embarrassment when Newt’s dazzlingly brilliant brain makes the connection and understanding dawns.

“Oh. _Oh_.”

There are sixteen screws holding the top stair to his room in place. Hermann is suddenly intensely interested in all of them. “Quite.”

Meanwhile, Newt sounds like he’s about to pass out. “Holy shit. Okay. So. Right. You’re. You want to. Right. Holy shit, Hermann. Fuck.”

“That was the idea.”

Newt laughs then, one of his loud, happy cackles, and Hermann is suddenly acutely aware that they are standing in a public thoroughfare where literally anyone could walk in on their conversation. A technician, a ranger, the Marshall, or heaven forbid Tendo Choi. He clears his throat, still not daring to meet Newton’s eyes.

“Would you like to come in, Dr. Geiszler?”

Newt grins. “Hell yes.”

ooooo

It takes them a while, but they eventually work out a rhythm that sticks. There’s no real regularity to it, but it suits both their needs; Newt because he is never anything but spontaneous, Hermann because it breaks up his rigid schedule, gives him refreshed perspective when he returns to his calculations after the fact. More than anything it is a tool, something they use to release some of the pent up stress of working with an apocalypse looming over their shoulders.

They have a set routine. The desire for sex is communicated discretely via text message and replied to in kind. They meet in Hermann’s room. They do not kiss and they do not talk, and after they are done Newt cleans off, gets dressed, and goes back to his own quarters. Before he leaves, at Hermann's request, he checks to make sure the halls are clear of suspicious or curious eyes. No one sees them, no one hears them. No one knows what they are doing, and no one will know.

In short, it is a convenience. A casual arrangement between colleagues. No emotional attachment involved whatsoever. At least, that is what Hermann tells himself as the months go by and their engagements become more frequent and less sterile. When he finds himself missing Newton after he leaves. When his bed feels cold and small and unbearably lonely in the mornings. When he hopes, selfishly, that Newton feels the same.

His illusions are shattered completely the night after Herc and Chuck Hansen successfully defend Hawai’i as copilots for the first time. The euphoria produced by the victory of the PPDC’s very first Mark-5 Jaeger is intoxicating, and even Hermann, who generally avoids the celebrations that naturally occur after every successful Kaiju kill, cannot resist the infectious joy that spreads through LOCCENT after the Marshall makes the call. He smiles wide and cheers with everyone else, shakes many hands, ignores the way his leg wobbles after so long standing and waiting and fearing the worst. Beside him, Newton is jubilant, rambling on to anyone who will listen about how clean the Hansen’s kill was, how many perfect samples he will get in a few hours time.

The flush of success and the atmosphere of pride that infuse the room give Hermann a low, heady buzz of excitement and arousal. In any other situation, he would be mortified by his body’s reaction, but with Newt standing next to him, eyeing him like he’s his own personal prize for Striker Eureka’s win, he cannot bring himself to care. They slip out of LOCCENT, still careful, even in their eagerness, to maintain a respectful distance from each other in order to conceal their true intentions.

Before the door is even properly closed, Newt has his mouth on Hermann’s collarbone. Hermann makes a small, extremely undignified noise in the back of his throat as Newt shoves his leg between his thighs. He’s harder than he’s ever been in his life, but his leg is shaking under the weight of Newt pressing him against the wall, and he can’t support himself.

He manages to croak the word “bed”, but Newton is already maneuvering them both across the room. Hermann takes a moment to situate himself before he pulls Newt down on top of him, digs his fingers into the soft flesh of Newt’s ass and grinds up into him. Newt groans and claws at the buttons on Hermann’s shirt. When he gets it open, his mouth is everywhere, biting tiny bruises into the skin over ribs, shoulders, stomach. The sensation has Hermann gasping for breath, and when Newt moves lower and begins to do ungodly things to his hipbones, he jerks up.

Pain spikes through the haze of arousal, and he cannot prevent the strangled cry that escapes his mouth. Newt stops what he is doing immediately and looks up in alarm.

“You okay, Hermann? That didn’t sound like a sexy noise.”

Hermann breathes ragged through his teeth. “It’s just a cramp.”

“Uh huh. Just a cramp. Right.”

“I’ll be fine in a moment.”

Something in Newt’s voice softens. “Maybe I can help?”

Hermann lifts his head, looks at Newt’s face. The expression there is gentle, almost hopeful.

“I am an actual M.D., you know. It was my fourth degree.”

“You went to medical school?”

Newt shrugs. “ I had a summer free.”

Hermann snorts, flopping back down onto the pillow. “Of course you did, you impossible man.”

“Is that an okay go?”

“If you must.”

Newt smiles and goes to work on Hermann’s belt, ungracefully pulling his trousers down around his ankles. Even through the pain, Hermann’s cock is still flushed and full, and it springs free from the confines of his pants as Newt removes them. Newt ignores it, however, and instead runs his hands up and down the shivering skin of Hermann’s thigh, stopping here and there to prod deeper into stiff muscle. Hermann is reminded of sitting in countless doctor’s offices, waiting as they examined him, mapped out all the ways in which he was wrong. It is different with Newton, though. His hands are warm and his face is intense with concentration, but it is the concentration of genuine concern rather than detached scientific fascination.

The relief Newt’s attentions produces is intense, and soon Hermann is making more obscene noises than he ever does during sex. Through the pleasure, Hermann can hear Newt laughing at him.

“Jeez, if I’d known this was going to be such a turn-on for you I would have tried this months ago,” he says, digging his fingers into a particularly tense snarl of muscle as he does so. Hermann moans out a curse and bucks up into Newton’s touch. Newt only laughs harder at this, and glances at Hermann from under his brow. “You want me to blow you?”

“ _Please_.”

“Okay, okay,” Newt chuckles. He keeps one hand splayed across the broadest part of Hermann’s thigh, and takes the base of his cock in the other, stroking up and down once before taking it into his mouth. As Newt swallows him deeper into his throat, Hermann throws his usual caution to the wind and moans louder than he ever has during their previous engagements. When he comes, Newt’s name is on his lips and his hands are tangled in his hair.

Newt pulls off with a pop and rolls off the bed, searching around the floor for his jacket and shoes. Coming down from his post-orgasm high, it takes a moment for Hermann to realise what he is doing. When he does, he reaches out and grasps Newt’s wrist.

“Do you not want anything?”

Newt shrugs again. “Nah. I’m good.”

Hermann is completely baffled. Usually Newt is more than enthusiastic.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, dude.”

“Oh.”

It is dim in the room, but Hermann can faintly see Newt moving around as he pulls on his boots.

“Hey, Hermann?”

“Yes?”

And then suddenly there is a hand on his neck and Newt is kissing him. It is brief, not much more than a soft press of lips, but it is electrifying. After a moment, Newt pulls back and smiles the same small smile as before.

“G’night.”

Hermann tries and fails to not sound completely winded. “Good… good night, then.”

Then Newt leaves. And Hermann can no longer pretend that he does not regret every single time he has let him go.

ooooo

The war drags on, and Kaiju continue to come through the Breach with alarming regularity. Hermann predicts them all, but he can do nothing to stop them. The Mark-1 Jaegers begin to fall one by one, and when Gipsy Danger is destroyed in Anchorage halfway across the globe, the PPDC higher-ups make it clear that unless they work twice as hard, the consequences will be dire. As if they didn’t already know that. The confidence that was so infectious during the first days of the Jaeger Program is gone, replaced by numbing fear. Everyone in the Sydney Shatterdome K-Science Division pulls double shifts in the months after the loss of Gipsy, but no one works as hard as Dr. Geiszler.

The attention Newton gives to his work has always bordered on obsessive, but with the new standards K-Science and the rest of the PPDC is held to during the escalation of the war, it has gone past obsessive to positively manic. More times than Hermann knows is healthy, he comes into the lab in the morning to find Newt still dressed in the clothes he was wearing the night before, covered from head to foot in Kaiju eviscera, surrounded by a minefield of empty coffee cups and energy drink cans.

That is not to say that Hermann has been working any less. If he gets more than four hours of sleep a night he is lucky, and often he is up just as late as Newton, scribbling frantically at his chalkboards or muttering under his breath while he types code and equations. There is no time for casual sex like there was before.

Though the extra work and increased pressure from the PPDC is a definite mental and physical strain, Hermann is grateful for the excuse it gives to avoid the urge to plaster himself to Newt and never let go. The kiss happened  months ago, but he cannot stop the memory of it from burning inside him. At best, it is inconvenient, a momentary distraction from his work, the only consequence being a forgotten negative sign or a badly written equation. At worst, it is an ache more painful than any muscle cramp, a longing for closeness that results in sleepless nights and a deep anxiety that he cannot shake. He arrives in the lab in the early morning and does not leave until late in the night, after everyone else but Newt has long since left.

It is exhausting and frustrating work for both of them, so it is no surprise when one night Newt lets out a screech of exasperation, throws his scalpel down with a clatter, and collapses on the moth-eaten couch in the corner of his lab space.

“Dude, it is fuckin’ cold as balls in here,” Newt says, sliding his eyes over to Hermann, the only person left in the lab.

Hermann is too tired to come up with a suitable response, and simply continues to shut down his computer station.

A brief silence, then: “You should come over here and be my blanket.”

That causes Hermann pause. He turns to where Newton is sprawled out on the couch and raises an eyebrow.

“Your blanket.”

“Yeah!” Newt giggles a delirious, sleep-deprived giggle. “I mean like. I’m cold, and you’re like a fucking furnace. We’re both tired. Our rooms are too friggin’ far away. Its perfect. We don’t even have to fuck or anything!”

For a moment, Hermann considers it. Lying next to Newton instead of fucking him, leaning into the warmth of his body, drifting off to sleep enveloped in sturdy, tattooed arms. It is the most tempting invitation he has ever received, and he wants to accept almost as much as he loves the man offering it. But he can't, he knows he can't. Doing so would go to far, cross too many of the boundaries Hermann has worked so hard to keep in place between them. There would be no retreat from such a decision. The damage would be irreversible.

So instead of doing what every molecule in his body wants him to do, he shakes his head and leans harder on his cane.

"We are in a public space, Newton."

"C'mon, dude there's no one here!"

"It does not follow that there will be no one here in the future."

Newt snorts and gestures vaguely towards the door. "I don't know if you've noticed, but everyone else in the universe has a _life_ , Herms. No one is going to willingly come into the lab at two in the morning. Its a biological certainty, dude."

"There are _security_ _cameras_."

"Uuugh, fine, whatever! No snuggles for you." Newt throws up his hands in amused defeat. "But if I freeze to death in my sleep, its all your fault and I'll never forgive you."

Hermann rolls his eyes. "How shall I ever live with myself?"

The only response he gets from Newt is a loud snore.

And if Hermann smiles, if an emergency blanket goes missing from one of the lab’s first aid kits, if Newton Geiszler wakes up in the early hours of the morning alone but warm, then the only witnesses are the cameras.

ooooo

In the end, Hermann is the one to break it.

The morning before is an eventful one. Newton trips on a stray wire on the way into their shared lab space, spilling his coffee everywhere and sending several expensive pieces of equipment toppling to the ground. Hermann shouts at him for half an hour before they both get to work cleaning up the mess in surly silence. Most of the parts are salvageable-- PPDC hardware is built to last, after all-- but due to a combination of gravity, coffee, and bad luck, Hermann’s holo-display is completely shattered. Hermann shouts for another fifteen minutes, after which Newton goes to spelunk in the Shatterdome basement for spare computer parts. He comes back dusty and empty handed, so they agree, grudgingly, to go out into the city to look for some sort of suitable temporary monitor until an official replacement can be delivered.

Finding spare computer parts in a city that has been ravaged by war and rationed to the point of starvation turns out to be a formidable challenge. They wander the Sydney streets for hours looking for a likely store, but find nothing. It is getting on towards evening when they reach one of the only truly nice parts of town left. The streetlamps are lit and the buildings are mostly intact. A drab little cafe sits on the corner, probably the only restaurant for miles.

“Hey, want to get a bite to eat? I’m starving.”

“No. I think I’ll return to the ‘Dome.”

Newton puts on one of his ridiculous pleading faces. “But kind of real food, Hermann! Human interaction! Sticky floors! What’s not to love?”

Hermann is tired and frustrated and his leg is starting to twinge more than a little painfully. In a word, he is grumpy, and he is not in the mood for Newton’s antics.

“I really would prefer to go home.”

“Aw, c’mon Herms!” Newton whines, and he reaches out and grabs Hermann’s hand.

Hermann lurches violently away, a toxic combination of anger, fear, and longing coursing through him.

“I have told you a thousand times, Dr. Geiszler,” he hisses, “You _do not_ touch me in public.”

Newt looks like he’s been punched in the stomach.

“What the _fuck_ , dude.”

“It is not part of our agreement!”

“Oh, of course, how could I forget our ‘agreement’, how silly of me!” Newt’s sarcasm is scathing, and his volume is rising. “What the hell sort of agreement are _you_ agreeing to, huh? Because I’m pretty fucking sure I didn’t sign up for this whole super secret tryst crap!”

“It is a matter of public decency--”

Newt gesticulates wildly. “Oh, the unmitigated horror! Some random bigot might have their poor eyes burned out by the sight of two dudes holding hands! Scandal of the fucking century! Someone inform the Queen!”

“That is not what I am concerned about!”

“Then what the hell does it matter, Hermann? Huh? Because I am pretty sure no one but you gives a single shit!”

“But--”

“But nothing, you sanctimonious dickbag! I just want to be close to you! Is that such a fucking crime?”

Newt’s voice cracks on the last word, and then Hermann feels like the one who has been struck. Shame threatens to overwhelm him, but it does not stop his anger. Anger at Newton’s blatant disregard for his boundaries, at his own inability to overcome them. It is a aggressive spark of stubborn pride that even the deepest shame cannot snuff out, so he tightens his grip on his cane and tips up his chin in defiance. When he speaks, his voice is dead quiet.

“Please keep your voice down, Dr. Geiszler. People might hear you.” Newt snorts derisively at him, but Hermann continues regardless. “And as for our agreement, consider it over.”

Newt is breathing hard, staring at him like he’s gone insane. “Fine. _Fine_. That’s just great. Awesome.” He turns savagely on his heel and starts to stalk away.

With all his rage spent on one outburst of fruitless self-preservation, Hermann’s regret comes flooding back. He calls after Newt, knowing that he sounds stupid, desperate. “Dr. Geiszler, where are you going?”

“As far away from you as possible, _Dr._ _Gottlieb_.”

And then he’s gone. Hermann stares after him for a moment before turning and making his way slowly back to the Shatterdome.

ooooo

Hours later, Hermann is startled from a fitful doze by the wail of emergency sirens.

A Kaiju has emerged from the Breach.

Hermann is instantly awake, scrambling out of bed as quickly as he can, pulling on pants and a undershirt (now is not the time for propriety) before racing down the echoey metal halls to LOCCENT. When he arrives, the room is already bustling with panicked activity. Marshall Pentecost is standing tall and commanding in the center of the room, directing everyone effortlessly. Mako Mori is beside him as she always is, somehow looking both far too old and far too young for her eighteen years. Hermann gives them a wide berth as he picks his way through rushing bodies to where Tendo Choi is frantically typing at his control panel. The statistics are already reading out on the screens mounted on the walls, but Tendo is a much more reliable source, and Hermann needs information _now_.

“Mr. Choi.”

Tendo barely looks up from where he is doing the preliminary checks on the neural interface for Striker Eureka. “Dr. Gottlieb, what can I do you for?”

“The Kaiju. What is it? Where is it headed?”

“Category Four. Codename Dirdawung. Too early for specs. Arriving at the Great Barrier Reef in approximately fifteen minutes. Vulcan Specter is ten miles out and Striker is holding the Miracle Mile.” Tendo sounds confident as he rattles off the stats, but there is a slight tremor there that Hermann understands well. Its a good team for a drop, but Vulcan is a Mark-3, nearly seven years old, and it stands little chance of stopping a Category Four from passing the ten-mile mark.

“Thank you, Mr. Choi.”

“Any time, brother.” He pauses for a moment, looks around in confusion. “Where’s Newt? Bet he could give us some better info with that crazy brain of his.”

Tendo is smiling, but Hermann feels like a bucket of ice has just been dumped down his throat. Where is Newt? Had he returned to the shatterdome? Or.

Or was he still out in the city? The city directly in the path of a giant rampaging alien monster.

Hermann swallows once, twice, and manages to scratch out something to placate Tendo. It would not do to have their head technician distracted by worry for a friend. And it would not be of use to mention it in the first place. Hermann knows that if Newt is out in Sydney somewhere, he is on his well and truly own. No one else is going to look for him, and Hermann cannot leave.

He manages to stay collected for the quarter of an hour it takes for Dirdawung to make it to where Vulcan Specter stands guard. He helps fill in for Newt’s absence, typing a mile a minute and repeating his results to Marshall Pentecost almost faster than he can speak. But when the Kaiju rips Vulcan in half and continues on towards the Miracle Mile, nothing in LOCCENT is calm, and Hermann is near collapse.

He’s gripping the back of Tendo’s chair so hard that it is making ominous cracking noises, but no one notices. The Kaiju slips past Striker and makes landfall a mere half an hour after its detection, smashing apart buildings that had only recently been reconstructed. The night is a dark, moonless one, but helicopter beacons and the natural bioluminescence of the Kaiju outline a long, lean quadrupedal form with a massive, baracuda-like snout and brutally sharp spikes jutting ten stories out from its back. It is built for speed and destruction, and Hermann has seen Kaiju before, but none so terrifying as this.

He watches transfixed, adrenaline pounding through his veins, as Striker Eureka climbs out from the ocean and takes on Dirdawung solo, fighting with deadly accuracy. The battle is a short one-- the Hansens are truly magnificent pilots-- and ends when they manage to drive the dying Kaiju into the boundaries of an oil refinery. Only three of their chest rockets hit the Kaiju, but the rest hit a storage tank, which detonates with enough force to rattle the Shatterdome’s windows more than five miles away. When the smoke clears, Striker Eureka is standing victorious over the glowing blue corpse that was once a terrifying interdimensional beast.

LOCCENT erupts into a joyous clamor of relief, but Hermann feels like he is going to throw up. If Newton was anywhere near the path the Kaiju took… if he was close to the blast of the explosion… he can’t bear to think of it.

He sits down hard on a vacant chair, vaguely aware through the ringing in his ears that he is shaking uncontrollably. This is not happening, it can’t be happening, Newt can’t. He can’t. Not after. No.

Hermann is closer to tears than he has been in years when the doors to LOCCENT open with a bang, startling everyone in the room. Newt looks furious as he stomps over to Tendo’s controls and starts flicking madly through the data readouts for Dirdawung.

“What sort of fucking luck is it that the Kaiju goes _right_ _over_ the shelter I’m in and then gets completely shredded by a gas explosion?! I haven’t had any new samples in months! And then they won’t let me out for a whole ten minutes and I miss all the good stuff here and this has really just been a _stellar_ day…”

He isn’t talking to anyone in particular, just rambling as he always does, but absolutely everyone is staring at him. Or rather, they are staring at Hermann, who is staring at him. Newt must notice the sudden silence, because his diatribe peters out and he looks up from a blurry video of Dirdawung gaining Bondi Beach. He makes eye contact with Hermann and goes a blotchy shade of pink, but he looks confused rather than angry.

“Uh… what?”

Hermann makes a bizarre choked noise and staggers up from his chair, limps over so he’s standing right in front of Newt. He can’t breathe, but he does not care, because Newt is still breathing, and that is all that matters.

“Newton.”

“Yeah, that’s my name. What?”

Hermann grabs both of Newt’s shoulders and looks at him, really looks at him. Tries to convince himself that he’s not hallucinating.

“You’re. You’re… alright.”

Newt’s eyebrows are making a very slow and deliberate migration to his hairline. “Um. Yeah? I’m… fine.”

Hermann nods absently. “Good.”

“Hermann, are you okay? You’re acting really--”

But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because that is when Hermann decides to kiss him. It is fierce and angry, and so completely overjoyed, and Newt actually squeaks in surprise before winding his arms around Hermann’s neck and kissing back.

Hermann disengages from the kiss almost as suddenly as he enters it, and takes Newton’s face between his hands, knocks their foreheads together.

“If you ever, _ever_ , let me think that I’ve lost you again, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

Newt laughs and shuffles closer, rests his head on Hermann’s shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’ve got it.”

They stand like that for a minute or perhaps an hour, Hermann doesn’t know or care, before there’s a puff of breath on his neck.

“Hey Herms, this is nice and all, but literally every single person in here is staring at us.”

Hermann burrows his face deeper into Newt’s hair. “To paraphrase a very wise platitude, I do not give a single shit.”

Newt snorts. “Neither do I, man, but the way they were all totally gambling on the outcome of our relationship is giving me the heebie jeebies.”

“What?!”

Hermann looks up just in time to witness _Marshall_ _Bloody_ _Pentecost_ handing what appears to be a large roll of one dollar bills to a thoroughly dumbstruck Tendo Choi. He feels himself turning humiliating colours and shoves his face back into Newton's shoulder to hide. From somewhere in the vicinity of his right ear he hears Newton giggle.

“I guess we weren’t as super secret as we thought.”

A pause, a nervous shuffle of feet.

“Hey. Uh. Seeing as though you just pretty much made out with me in front of the entire PPDC. Is our ‘arrangement’ still old news? But like. In a good way? Like an actual ‘I love you and want to be boyfriends not fuckbuddies and I don’t care what anyone thinks’ sort of way? Because obviously I’d really like that.”

Hermann weaves his hands into perpetually flyaway hair. There is so much to talk about, so many apologies to make, so many things to learn, to fight over, to work out. But for the first time since this whole ridiculous thing began, Hermann feels capable of all of it. He smiles.

“Yes. Yes, I believe it is.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Dirdawung" means "devil dog" in Wagiman, a language of the Australian Aborigines. I didn't want to make up a kaiju because I am a stickler for canon compliance, but a lack of information made it necessary. I ended up having fun doing the research for it, so.


End file.
